


Sex Tape

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7987714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bono gives Edge a seemingly innocuous birthday present. Edge has other ideas.</p><p>Set in 1992.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strawberry Jam

**Author's Note:**

> This is not Nexus. This is, instead, something that crawled into my head and won't leave me be. It was meant to be a one shot, but I've decided to post it as a few short chapters, because...well, it just feels right. It's pretty cracky, and it'll probably get a bit porny, though one would never have guessed such a thing from the title! 
> 
> Frankly, this is a ridiculous fanfiction and I should be ashamed of myself. But I blame Jana.

It was well into the evening on a Friday when Bono lifted his head from the pillow and said, “Oh, I got you a birthday present,” with a smile that was so pure that it almost made Edge forget what year it was, let alone what date. 

But then, when Bono turned away, the spell was broken and, as curious as he was, Edge just had to say, “My birthday was a week ago.” Which wasn’t quite true, but given who he was talking to, Edge figured he could get away with calling six days an even seven. “And you already got me a gift.” 

There had been several gifts, actually, and when Bono had handed over the pile, some professionally wrapped, others not so much - the paper being held together by either too much tape or the sheer will of God, one could only assume - Edge immediately insisted it was too much, and sure, that’s what everyone said, but in Edge’s case he mostly meant it. 

It had been too much, he was rich, he didn’t need anything, having his family and friends by his side on his birthday was better than any present he could receive, he couldn’t believe Bono had gone to so much trouble when all he’d given Bono on his birthday was a book that  _ kind of seemed like something Bono would be into  _ \- and when he’d said exactly that as he’d given Bono the book, Bono had laughed and laughed and said, “You’re right, Edge, in fact I have two copies already,” and Edge had only had one backup plan - and a lingering kiss that had turned into so much more. 

So, yes, he’d had plenty of rebuttals, but Bono had just shook his head and insisted, “Just open them, you wanker,” which, while technically true, wasn’t the nicest thing one could be called on their birthday. 

But Edge had given in and opened the gifts, finding a few new shirts - two sheer, one appropriate - and a beautiful silver chain that glimmered beneath the lights and certainly did not make Edge’s eyes well up for a brief moment, because it was just a necklace and he didn’t cry over material things, not even beautiful ones that had been carefully chosen out of all the other necklaces in the world by someone who he admittedly, at this stage in his life, liked more than just a friend. Who had looked at him with shining eyes and a fond smile. Who had kissed Edge just behind his ear when Edge had leaned in for a hug, partly so he could hide the fact that his eyes were stinging, but mostly because he wanted to. 

Somewhere along the way they’d both turned into a couple of softies, and it seemed to be getting worse the older they became.

Next in the pile of gifts had been a jar of jam, strawberry flavoured, and when Edge had given Bono a  _ look _ , Bono had just smiled faintly and said, “It’s your favourite.” Which was true, but _still_. 

Edge had set it aside for breakfast and moved on. To the last two gifts, both wrapped in such a way that proved that Bono was either trying his best or not trying at all, depending on how well you knew Bono - and Edge knew Bono well enough to know that, on any given day, both could be true, but in this particular case it was probably his best - and both feeling suspiciously book shaped. 

He’d started on the tape slow enough to exasperate Bono, and he’d gone slower still until Bono had batted his hands away and did it himself, the smile that had been threatening to burst through from the moment Edge had picked up the last two gifts finally making it’s toothy, glorious appearance. And beneath the paper, of course, had been copies of  _ Story of O _ and  _ The Joy of Gay Sex, _ because Bono was Bono, and Edge should never have expected anything else from him

Somehow, he’d managed a straight face, saying, “Thank you, Bono, I’m touched,” which only made Bono laugh harder. Then, after a pause for effect, he’d added, “But I already have two copies of each.”

It wasn’t until Bono was on his knees in front of his second suitcase - the one that held shoes and books and strange little miscellaneous things that had been acquired on his travels - that he thought to remind Edge, “No, I got you several gifts,” sounding smug about the fact. 

As if every single gift had been so brilliant and life changing that Edge should thank him again and again. Though he had, later that night. Twice. And once the next morning, and then late on Wednesday in the shower, though if one was to ask Bono about the last thanking, Edge suspected Bono would place the blame squarely on a little bit of whiskey. That, and his go to excuse of, “I couldn’t help it, Edge, you just looked so sexy tonight.” 

Still, as Bono searched deeper into his suitcase and his intensely white arse wriggled in the air in a way that was both inviting and ridiculous, Edge couldn’t help himself. 

There was a gorgeous silver chain around his neck, and every time he played with it he was filled with that beautifully warm feeling. It enveloped him whole, in a way that he’d not felt for a while now, catching in his throat and clenching at his heart so strangely that he was sure he was on the cusp of madness. 

It was, frankly, getting ridiculous.

“You did,” he said, because it was important to give credit where credit is due. “Though I don’t really classify a jar of jam as a gift.”

“What?” Bono glanced back with an incredulous look, turning back to his suitcase before the smile could emerge. “That jam was the heart of the gift giving, Edge. The warm, gooey centre. I can’t believe - ah!”

“Did you find it?” Edge asked, even though from the sound Bono had made and the triumphant smile on his face, he figured the answer was pretty obvious. Not to mention the plastic bag in his hand that quite clearly contained a box of sorts, and a pretty sizable one at that, and Christ, how Bono had spent that long looking through his bag of crap for a bag that size. . .   

“Is that it?” he added as Bono flopped back down on the bed, because he secretly liked Bono’s withering looks. 

“No, this is my new boat,” Bono said with a roll of the eyes. “HMS Fuck Off. Of course this is it, Edge.”

“Good, because frankly, I don’t think they’d let you call a ship that.”

“You forget, Edge, that I’m a celebrity.” Shoving two searching hands into the bag, he gave Edge a thin-lipped grin. “I can do anything I want.”

Edge wasn’t entirely sure that was true, and there had been a couple of incidents that sort of proved Bono wrong, but then again there were a hundred different incidents that proved Bono right, so he kept his mouth shut. And kept his gaze on Bono’s hands as they pulled out a sizable rectangular box, professionally wrapped. “You really didn’t have to,” he said, and it came out more like a question than a statement, because after receiving a jar of jam as a gift from this man, Edge wasn’t entirely sure how to go about life anymore. Though it was a rather large box. And it was professionally wrapped. 

There was a chance that Edge maybe was a little bit curious as to what was inside, and if it was something beautiful or wonderful or not a jar of jam, there was a chance that he might just have to leave the hotel room almost immediately and go find Bono a gift that he deserved - that wasn’t a book that he already owned,  _ twice _ , and a lingering kiss that had turned into so much more - like perhaps the constellation of Cassiopeia. Or something equally impressive, because really, jar of jam or no, Bono had still given him six gifts and was in the process of giving him a seventh, and Edge had given him a book that he already owned. Twice. And a lingering kiss that had turned into so much more. 

“You really didn’t have to,” was basically all he had, and he said it again, after tearing the paper away much too quickly, because even if it was too much and he didn’t deserve so many presents, he was still human. Curious and a little bit greedy, like even the best of humanity could be when presented with something that was both surprising and not something they had to pay for, no matter how rich they were. 

And he was. Rich. 

But still, when he tore off the paper and saw what Bono had gotten him, he couldn’t help but laugh with glee. Because of course he could afford it, a hundred times over - more - and he even had one at home, but it was a couple of years old now, and rapidly becoming out of date with the times. 

Because he did have one at home, he would never have thought to buy a new one. It seemed a bit unnecessary. Even if he had looked longingly at the latest model in the catalogue only two days before. With Bono peering over his shoulder. Smiling a little smile to himself, but saying, “Nothing,” when Edge had asked just what was so amusing. 

Oh, he was an idiot alright. Clueless and undeserving of so many good things when he might as well have given Bono the scrapings from the bottom of his shoe for a gift. And as he held the camcorder in his hand, admiring the smooth black surface and the compact design, he knew he was going to have to find a way to pay Bono back. Maybe not with a constellation, but something better than a book. 

“You really shouldn’t have,” he said.

Bono just rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up,” he said, laughing a bit when Edge leaned forward and kissed him, a little puff of air that warmed both their lips. “I mean, you were looking at that thing in the catalogue the same way a man usually looks at a centrefold, Edge, how could I not?”

There was too much truth in his words for Edge to come up with an argument that actually stuck, so he didn’t even bother. Instead, after setting the camcorder gently back into its box, he pushed Bono back against the pillows, kissing him before growling, “You’re my centrefold,” and though it sounded more than a little ridiculous, it was still enough to make Bono smile.


	2. High Maintenance Kitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the delay, on both this, and Nexus (and even responding to comments, what sort of monster AM I???) Life has been....LIFE. YOU KNOW??? And I've not had the energy to even write, but this has happened, and I'm so terribly glad for it!!!! I hope it's alright, and I hope you all enjoy...

Over the next few days, Edge filmed his surroundings like he was scouting for film locations for their next Hollywood disaster. 

He filmed the streets passing them by as they made their way to the venue, and the crowd that had already gathered, from a safe and somewhat covert distance. Inside, he filmed Larry for all of ten seconds, until Larry grumbled, “Get that thing out of my face before I fucking break it.” 

So he went and joined Adam on his smoke break, and Adam was all too happy to be filmed. “Can you film in black and white?” he mumbled around the unlit cigarette resting between his lips. “It would be very film noir of me.”

“Oh, you’re a regular Humphrey Bogart alright,” Edge said as he eyed off Adam’s shock of hair. Adam just smirked in that way that he had and lit his cigarette, playing cool and detached as Edge filmed him, disappointingly not in black and white, keeping his gaze to the sky as he blew out a stream of smoke heavenward.

“Tell me the truth,” Adam said as they walked back inside. “That’s the best thing you’ve ever filmed, isn’t it?” Before Edge could answer, Adam was leaning in to whisper in his ear. “We could make it in this town if we put our mind to it.”

For a moment Edge just nodded along, but when he saw Adam wasn’t smiling he just had to remind him, “We’re in Washington.”

“Mmm, we’re a long way from Hollywood,” Adam mused, and he did smile then, even laugh as he wandered off, throwing a too-loud, “You could be the next Spielberg,” over his shoulder as he went. 

Next to Edge, Bono materialized like a genie, sans the dramatic smoke accompaniment. “Is he trying to recruit you over to the dark side again, Edge?”

“I think,” Edge said, “he wants an excuse to live in L.A as much as possible. And somehow, I’m involved in that plan?”

“Makes sense to me,” Bono said, and of course it did. “He knows that me and Larry aren’t going to spend our free time pointing a lens in his face and remarking how arty the shot looks with him in a haze of smoke and wearing that little vest, so he gravitates to you. Naturally.”

“Oh, naturally.” Edge  _ looked  _ at Bono. “You know, he could just find a professional to do that.”

“Oh no, Edge, not at all,” Bono said, pushing his sunglasses up his nose like they were regular reading glasses, and he, a person worthy of wearing said glasses. A scholar, perhaps. He who had a PhD in Bullshitting, that was Bono, alright, though Edge would never tell him as much. Doctor Bono just wasn’t something Edge could say seriously, no matter how many times Bono had tried to find his pulse in the most surprising of places. “A professional filmmaker comes along with their camera and sees you? You’re all they’re going to want to film.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’ll be you they’ll want to film.”

“Actually, it’ll be Larry,” Willie interjected as he cut through the two of them, despite the considerable space on either side. They both stared after him for a moment before glancing back at one another.

“He’s right,” Edge said, wide-eyed.

With a shake of the head and a little smile sneaking on through, Bono muttered, “Motherfucker.”

In Pittsburgh Edge filmed the life down below from the safety of his hotel room balcony, until the sun started to dim and Bono came up behind him, saying, “There’s this restaurant down the way that Larry wants to try,” as he peered over Edge’s shoulder. “Italian, I think.”

“Alright.” Stepping back from the railing, Edge smiled at Bono as he lifted the camera. “Quick, before we lose the sun.”

“Don’t film me, Edge,” Bono said as he made no effort to shield himself. His hair ruffled in the breeze and he laughed as Edge held out a hand to frame the shot. “I’m terribly shy, as you know.”

“So terribly shy,” Edge agreed. “Turn to your left, please.” With a put upon sigh and a barely controlled smile, Bono did exactly that. “Such obedience, Bono, I’m impressed.”

“It’s all for show, of course.”

“Still, Anton would be so mad if he found out you could actually listen to directions.”

Looking back towards the camera, Bono winked. “Anton doesn’t take care of me like you do.”

 

They returned back to the room more than four hours later, full on pasta and cake and expensive wine that had left Bono red cheeked and so wonderfully agreeable that Edge was tempted to suggest Italian every night of the week. At least until their pants stopped fitting properly.

“Edge,” Bono called from the bedroom while Edge was washing his hands. “Edge, your bed is better than mine.”

“I’m pretty sure our mattresses are identical, B.”

“No, yours is better.” He sounded so certain of it that Edge knew he wasn’t going to win, so it was best just to give up. Especially when there were other things they could be discussing. Or doing, and a few ideas sprung to mind as he stepped into the bedroom and saw Bono, sprawled out against the pillows wearing those tight leather pants and a dangerous little smile on his face. It was an inviting image, and one that Edge didn’t want to forget. “It’s firmer, Edge.”

“Is that so?”

“That is so. And you know how much I like firm.”

“Oh, I know exactly.” Chuckling, Edge headed towards the desk, well aware that Bono was watching his every move. “Would you prefer to sleep here tonight then?”

“I think it would give me better lumbar support.”

_ Better lumbar support? Christ almighty _ . 

It was hard to keep a straight face. Painfully hard. Thankfully, the glass hid his smile as he first sipped at his whiskey, then downed it in a giant, burning gulp, because fuck it, it wasn’t a night for wasting time. Still, when he turned back to face a grinning Bono, Edge just had to draw it out a moment longer. Stroking his chin, frowning as he pretended to think it over, all the little things that he knew Bono could see right on through, that made him laugh his way right back toward frustration. 

Sometimes, Bono was terribly impatient.

More than sometimes.

Really, though, he wasn’t much better when it came to sex.

Finally, after what felt like an age but was probably only a few seconds of chin stroking and Bono admiring, Edge said, “Hmm, I don’t know if I want you kicking me in your sleep again,” as he approached the bed. 

“I’ll be good, Edge,” Bono drawled. “Or bad, whatever. Whatever  _ you  _ want.”

Edge wanted a lot of things. And logically, he knew he couldn’t have them all in one night, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least try.

He kissed Bono, tasting red wine and the barest hint of garlic, and when Bono laughed against his lips Edge just had to smile. Then shake his head, and give Bono a look that said he meant business, even as the laughter threatened to bubble right on up and show his hand. 

No, it was serious time now, no matter how much Bono’s lips twitched and his eyes danced, and Edge lost it, for only a moment, clutching at a leather clad hip as he buried his face into Bono’s neck and chuckled, smiled, then turned it into something just as fun, and more promising for the both of them. A press of his lips, a nip of his teeth, and he couldn’t leave a mark, they both knew he couldn’t, but still it was enough to turn Bono’s laugh into a moan. 

Underneath the faint cologne and fainter sweat, Edge could taste him, that inexplicable Bono taste that wasn’t manufactured, wasn’t anything really, but it was something, it was  _ him _ , and Edge couldn’t quite believe he’d gone so many years without knowing it. To think, he might have been able to brush hair away from a pink throat when there was enough hair to completely conceal the back of his neck. More, trailing past his shoulders in a way that had been completely unkempt at times, but soft, so soft and smelling clean, smelling in need of a wash, smelling like summer -

“Edge.”

Bono was right, of course. He had to get a move on. No point lingering over the past when the present was so close to being at hand, though, like a regular Dracula, he just had to have one more taste, and when Bono made that sound, that stupidly simple sound that wasn’t quite a sigh, wasn’t quite a moan, wasn’t anything at all really, but it was  _ everything _ , Edge knew he just had to have one more taste. Just one more hit, and then Bono was laughing again. 

“Edge, my cock is getting jealous of my neck,” he said, his throat vibrating against Edge’s lips.

“Tell your cock to be patient,” Edge muttered before kissing Bono soundly, his fingers dancing at the top button of Bono’s shirt. He undid it, slowly, and Bono rolled his eyes.

“When has my cock ever listened to me?” he asked.

“Point taken.”

The second button followed, and then the rest, and the ridiculous side of Edge wanted to stop and just admire, because that side still couldn’t quite believe he had access to such a chest, let alone the rest of Bono. There was even a moment where he was compelled to give up all lecherous intentions and just hold Bono close, as he thanked his lucky stars, but Edge knew that such an idea was absurd. Even for his ridiculous side. 

Besides, they both had erections, and Bono was looking at him in such a way that made all romantic notion head right on out the door. 

He had thoughts. Oh, he had so many thoughts.

“Naughty boy,” Bono murmured like he knew exactly what was going on inside Edge’s head, and sometimes, it seemed almost possible. “I should write a song about you.”

Edge had heard it all before. “I don’t think Paul would let us put it on the album,” he said, before kissing Bono again, slowly, dragging it out until they were both gasping, until Bono had forgotten he’d even said anything at all. It was then that Edge slipped out of his own shirt, tossing it aside before ridding Bono of his tight leather pants, smiling at the sound Bono made when he pulled away - a  needy and disappointed little sound that reminded Edge of a high maintenance kitten. 

Reaching a hand inside the drawer, he found what he needed. And after dropping the tube onto the covers, Edge turned his attention back to Bono, kissing his neck, his chest, the inside of his thigh before finally taking Bono’s cock in his mouth.

It was a slight haze after that, he found, one with arching backs and gasping cries and two single thoughts that he couldn’t get past,  _ it’s all for him  _ and  _ now, God, now,  _ and Edge had never excelled at being selfish. He ended up with too much lubricant between them, but that was never a bad thing he was sure, and with a single finger inside him, and then three, he worked Bono slowly, thoroughly -  _ all for him, all of it  _ \- until Bono was clutching and grasping; at the bedspread, at the base of Edge’s skull, open mouthed and gasping, moaning, crying out as he came in Edge’s mouth, tasting bitter and sweet.

Holding back, and it was a challenge, Edge listened to Bono coming down, breath catching and rushing out thick and fast. Then slower, _slower_ , until he was finally soft and pliable, at that point where Edge was sure he could do anything he wanted. Anything he could think of, and yet all he could think to do was make his way up Bono’s body, kissing his chest, his neck and then his lips before sucking on his tongue until he was sure Bono could taste himself. “Do you know what you do to me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Bono just let out a laugh. “Do you?”

Drowsily, Bono said, “No,” and it was a lie. It had to be a lie. His eyes were bright, his neck flushed, and when he smiled his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

He knew.

Edge fucked him slowly, dragging it out like the selfish man that he wasn’t, kissing him until they were both warm all over, with Bono rubbing his back, coaxing him with quiet words and quieter gasps, thighs tightening and releasing, and he didn’t come again, but it wasn’t about that. It wasn’t, and when Edge collapsed, slick and boneless, there were words whispered in his ear that told him it was alright, it was wonderful, it was so much more.

Later, when they had both caught their breath and the television was droning in the background, Edge reluctantly pulled himself from the bed. He had been comfy, and it was always terrible to be pulled away from such comfort and such company, but he was feeling a bit dried out, and then some. 

After downing a glass of water and then pouring another, he ambled back into the bedroom, where he found Bono. Looking like he did often, casual and disheveled, in a way that had haunted Edge for years until he couldn’t help it anymore, he’d had to strike. Like a coiled cobra. Or something. 

“Do you know how sexy you are?” Edge had asked a few times over the last three months, and Bono had answered  _ yes  _ only on the day he was feeling confident and sexy,  _ no  _ one other time, because apparently he was an idiot, and twice he’d just rolled his eyes and laughed, before proving Edge’s point completely.

Sexy was one way to put it, Edge supposed. The more delicate way. Decidedly fucked was another. Effortless. Effortlessly fucked and sexy, Edge figured as he looked at Bono, sprawled out upon the bed, with the sheet  _ barely  _ covering his most important parts as he gave the television the least amount of attention he could possibly spare. 

He was almost asleep, looking like  _ that _ , and Edge was tempted to go and find a camera because, no matter how many pictures had been taken over the years, he doubted anyone had captured Bono in such a way. And it was a crying shame, really. Something that he certainly would like to look back on, years from now, when he was old and fat and Bono still no doubt looked like the little rockstar that he was. Sex on two legs, even half asleep and watching late night television. Even after an all night bender, even after -

Sex.

The idea came to him, swiftly and utterly ridiculous, and Edge couldn’t quite believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner. And then he couldn’t quite believe he’d thought of it at all, because, yes,  _ ridiculous _ . And a little sexy. And, no, no, they couldn’t. They couldn’t. . . 

They should though.

But they couldn’t. They were famous, for one thing, and Edge couldn’t quite think of another argument against it, but if someone happened to find out, and if the tape somehow got into the wrong hands -

But to think, he -  _ they  _ \- could have evidence, years from now, of what they looked like. When he was old and fat and Bono still no doubt looked like the little rock star that he was. Young, without any saggy bits, looking all sleek and wonderful as they expressed themselves in the most carnal sense -

“Edge?”

Bono was looking at him.  _ Frowning  _ at him, all suspicious like Edge was up to something, when he most certainly was not. It was just a stupid idea, after all, even if it would, at the very least, be an interesting experiment. And if he justified it as such, it was fine. Though it wasn’t really an experiment. What it was, was stupid, even with Bono looking the way that he did.

“Bono?” It was ridiculous, and he was calm. He was cool, he could push it from his mind and climb into bed, and sleep the night away. He was calm. He was fine. “B, I have an idea.”

He was not fine.


End file.
